"The fuck you mean you don't know? It's a yes or no question, Alvaro. Like shit, you either shot your gun or you didn't; what is it?"

Alvaro didn't know. Didn't know?!? What in the fuck? How blitzed in the fucking skull you gotta be to not know if you shot anyone. Jesus Christ, it's like... fuck man. Michael knew BGLMS hit people pretty hard, but this shit is fucking ridiculous. Durr I don't know if I kill anybody, hyuk hyuk huh-durrr.

Then there was the shit he said about taking Maria's blade. Outwardly, he kept his cool, kept his poker face slash I'ma fukkin' keel you stare. Inwardly...

He was mentally giggling like a maniac, even moreso when Maria told Al off. Michael honestly hoped Alessio tried. That'd give him the advantage-

The moment Al walked to take the sword, Michael would grab him, kick his ax to Maria, and hold Al hostage. They'd back out with Alvaro unable to shoot his buddy, then plan an ambush if he decided to follow. Everything would turn out alright in the end.

Of course it was too good to be true, Alessio was a lil' pussybitch to the core. Alvaro would be too, without that big ass Uzi staring them down. Fuckin' Al-team, we're hot shit until we lose it, then we're shit. Fuckin' chucklefuck squad.

His eyes trailed on Al as he took one of the water bottles. Spat out blood. His blood. That was his blood he just so callously spit out on the fuckin' ground. The torn skin was still there, he hadn't even wiped it off yet; the sick fuck...

"You uhh- you got a lil' somethin' on your face..."

Michael pointed to his lower lip. Al fuggin' ignored him and shuffled the fuck out like his pants were so full of shit they weighed him down. Hell, he probably did shit, the fuckin' coward. Bitey coward fucking biter, fuckin' biting me you friggen- aaaaauugh. Michael was at a point that he couldn't describe how pissed he was with the English language. He'd need to learn a new language to fully show how pissed off he was about the biting ordeal.

Relax fucker... breath... You get this pissed now, you might get yourself and Maria killed. Don't do nothing stupid...

He turned back to Alvaro.

"Whatever, don't matter. Fat cat on the announcements will tell me all I needa' hear."

He felt some foreboding feeling moving it's way up his chest. Something told him Alvin and the fuckmunk wanted more that just his bag. His arm reached out and touched one of the nearby metal doors. He was sure he could use it as a temporary cover if everything went tits up. He disguised it as leaning on the door.

Fiiiiiiiiguuuuurrrres... It was petty shit! Who ta' thunk it?! Alvanabo was one of 'those' people. The same people he's been dealing with since he got here.

Big Gun Little Man Syndrome.

Symptoms of Big Gun Little Man Syndrome include; but are not limited to, Unwarranted Self-Importance, over-exaggeration of small petty shit that happened years ago, smugness, overcompensation for small genitals, Self-Serving Bias (If something goes right, it's all on you, if something goes wrong, blame everyone else), delusions of immortality, small genitals, inability to perceive opinions differing from your own, Narcissism, inability to perceive ones own genitals as small, batshit insanity, and small genitals.

Michael was getting really fed up with this shit. There was nothing he could do this time. It wasn't like something that was semi-auto or took time to fire. This was Alamborghini twitches and 30 bullets go into him and Maria. Shit-uh. Michael lowered his axe, but placed his foot on it. If they wanted it that bad, they could come take it. He wasn't gonna give them shit.

"Okay Alabama, you win. But can I ask a question?"

Michael gave his best death stare to Alessio as he ran to Albananna, acting like he was some innocent retarded kid or some shit.

Al's really pissing Mike off, him trying his hardest to be a mute is reminding him of another mute that really pissed him off. He was gonna really enjoy hearing the announcements, with Al having ended up killing like 10 people. With a start like this, he should grab one of the bed sheets, pull a plan A. Turn Alessio into a hood ornament. For a tree that is. If trees could have hood ornaments...

He just had to hype himself up. Al threw away his humanity when he killed right? Like Nancy, she wants to be seen as an object of death, and not a person. 'Fame from killing'? Disgusting. People who thought like that weren't people, that was an insult to the human race to compare them to- well, that. It helped. Dehumanize the enemy and it becomes a lot easier.

It was gonna happen on the ann-

Alvaro.

Alvaro had a gun.

Michael heard nearby machine gun fire.

Alvaro had the machine gun.

Michael stood up. This wasn't like the other times, all he had to do was fire, and Michael would be dead ten times before he hit the floor. It wasn't a question of if he'd be hit, it was a question of how many.

From how many times he heard the ratta-tatta below him, Alvaro's been working hard...

First was uhhhh, shit what was his name? Oh yeah, Barry. Good job following horror film stereotypes Alvaro, you dick.

"Woah, hold up a minute..."

Michael kept a hold of his axe, but he raised his other hand. He wasn't gonna drop that shit. Not like it'd help. Alvaro could kill all three of them without even opening his eyes.

Then little pissbaby spoke up.

"Yeah! That's my blood on your mouth you biting fuckboy fuck! I don't even know who's blood that is on your clothes, but it ain't mine or yours you shit!"

He looked towards Alvaro.

"Ala-" Michael cut himself off, now's not the time to be witty. No name fuckings, this shit is serious.

"Alv... Listen, this is probably exactly what it looks like, but this little shit has it coming to him! He murdered someone over a fake gun! I don't know what you're tryin' to do,and I know from here, me and Maria look like the bad guys; but we ain't."

He paused and pointed towards Alessio.

"We're the good guys here. He's... not."

It only just occurred to him that Alvaro might kill him and Maria over petty shit from school like everyone else he's seen.

Michael lowered the straight jacket and turned towards Al. The fucker wanted a water bottle.

Michael pulled it out and looked at him.

"Why?"

Al didn't need to answer, Michael knew the answer.

Blood dripped down the sides of Alessio's mouth, as a flap of burned skin dangled from the corner of his lower lip. Michael himself gagged from the view alone. Alessio looked like he had pizza caked over his mouth, bad, burnt pizza at that. The visage was terrible, the scent was horrible, and Michael was thankful he couldn't taste whatever the hell Al was tasting. It was bad enough to look at, it was worse to realize all of it was yours. Not only was he disgusted, he was disgusted...

He pulled out the water bottle.

"I mean, it's clear you like the taste of my meat in your mouth, otherwise you'da not bit so hard. Why'd you think you deserve water, eh? Be thankful it was fuckin' cooked y-you, you-"

He couldn't even focus looking at that shit! Michael shivered then dry-heaved before he opened the water bottle, his eyes watching Al's.

It was clear how bad he wanted it.

"Alright."

Michael took the water and gulped the majority of it down, leaving just enough to fill a shot glass left in the bottle.

"He got a lucky break this time. If that gun was real, motherfucker would be deaf by now." Michael stared down at Alessio, maybe it was also his lucky break. Even when he had the chance to end it all then and there, he hesitated. Not only that, he aimed away, he tried to miss. That said a lot about where he actually stood, what he could actually do. When he thought the gun was real he aimed away, he tried to miss.

He didn't hear his names on the announcements though. What if; through some shitty miscalculations and some really, really, really, rea-hea-heally bad luck on Alessio's part that he was innocent. Michael would've killed an innocent if that gun were real, and if he didn't try to miss.

But it was all bullshit, Alessio was clearly guilty, but until the verdict, they had to babysit him, just to be sure. Michael just couldn't grow a pair and follow through with his promises. That was all. Maria or Al wouldn't know, not for the time being. And once those announcements come in? Michael was sure he'd build up the strength to follow through. Gun or no gun. He still had his axe.

"But y'know what?" Michael knelt besides Al, lowering his shades to nose level. He stared Alessio right in the eyes.

"He tries any funny shit, he'll just be gettin' broken." Michael said, in the cheesiest Rutger Hauer rasp anyone could speak in non-ironically.

Michael raised his shades back to eye level, before rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

He reached his hand out to grope Al's lootbag before zipping it open. Already he saw an oddity.

Two large dirty white jacket thingies. He threw them to the side without much of a second thought. He searched through the bag finding a suspicious abundance of food and water.

"Dinner for two, eh?" He spoke with obvious disdain for the captive.

"Was this your extra 'weapon'?"

Michael awaited an answer, before shrugging and pulling out the first aid kit. He opened it up, and began working on his hand. He was gonna have to stop the bleeding, and that meant one thing.

He pulled out the lighter.

Fwip

sssssssssssssssssssssssss

Michael's hissing rivaled the sounds of burning hand sanitizer before it warped into a loud "FUCK!" ending with Michael shaking the flames out.

After he finished bandaging, he looked at the white jackets he carelessly tossed.Waiddaminute...

Oh shit, these were straight jackets.

Michael picked one up and looked at it, wondering what it would've been used for, and why Al had it.

Was he another Isabel?

His he turned his head towards Maria, tilting his head to the jacket, then towards Alessio. He did this around three or four times.

Michael could barely speak in utter disbelief. This little fucker... Okay, let's recap a few things.

One. When he walked in on him scaring the pee pee out of the pissy pants trio, there was blood on the pickaxe. Now the implication is pretty clear there; but maybe, just maybe, he found it. Of course, that leaves another problem, who would just leave a pickaxe out of the blue?

Oh yeah... Someone who found a gun. Al had came back, covered in more blood, carrying what he thought was a real gun. Now, even if he didn't kill someone with the pickaxe in the beginning, there's a very high probability that he'd killed someone for the toy gun.

But what if- somehow he didn't kill someone. Where did the pickaxe go, and where did all the blood come from. What would he have done to get himself covered like that?

Did he play dead under someone else?

None of it really made sense. No way, there was nooo way he- Make up your fuckin' mind already!

"Alright, we wait 'till tomorrow. We just gotta find a way to keep him with us; y'know, without him biting our throats out..." Michael shook the pain out of his hand and looked at it. Fucker bit right through it, tore most of the burnt skin away. It was bleeding like a motherfucker, and he was sure he saw other gross fluids in there.

"What's in the bag, Al? I think I deserve some of your meds, 'coz y'know, you kinda bit me for no reason."

They were all gonna get it soon. Alessio was just the first. He promised to take his teeth and now he was gonna do it. He was gonna take more. He deserved this. After all the shit he'd been through, he deserved this release. Al deserved his punishment.

"You didn't even look at them did you Al!? Just gutted 'em and left, is that right?! Huh?! How's that fucker?! You like that shit!? Look me in the eyes you shit! Look me in my fuckin' eyes! Look in my fuckin' eyes!"

He didn't feel a thing as his hands flew across Alessio's face. The ache was gone. The guilt was gone. It was all a blank slate, he was coming back. He was on the top of the chain again. No more dragging his own face through the dirt. He backhanded Al with his left arm, and threw his right fist towards Al.

Al turned. Al grabbed it.

Al bit him.

Michael regretted everything.

He regretted getting cocky.

He regretted pulling back when Al bit down.

He regretted pulling back harder when bandages and burnt flesh hung from Alessio's face like cheese on a pizza.

You've got to be fucking kidding me! Three times in a row and they got guns! I want guns!

Michael lost his grin when Al pulled out his new toy.

Michael was really, really, really, reallyreallyreally reallly reeaaa-hea-hea-eally getting tired of this shit. Another one in the 'I've got a big dick because I got a gun' pile. He should be thankful though, because Alessio gave him two realizations that helped him out pretty well. One; was that getting a gun pointed at you three times in a row kind of desensitized you to it. Not by much admittedly, he was still spooked, but he didn't turn into a lispering studderfuck. Two; Al told him exactly what happened to that pickaxe, and how he got his new toy.

"Al you lil' bitch. Put that shit away for fucks sake!" Michael had to find a way around him, a way out, the lucky bas-

Michael should have realized sooner, but it didn't matter. He caught his composure and took his shades off, giving Al his best Ghost Rider penance stare.

"Put it away. 's all you gotta do." Michael nodded for Maria to move to his left. As long as they spread out, they'd be harder targets.

'Ya do that, an' you start talkin', even though we probably know what you did already, and you might, just might, maybe walk away with half your teeth! That's half more than I was plannin' on leavin' you with, think a' that! Too good a deal to pass up if you ask me!"

Michael twirled his axe and laid in upon his own shoulder.

"Or you could just shoot me, then I guess Maria here will just skewer your genitals and turn you into a chode-kabob. Food for thought." Michael put his shades back on and grabbed his privy parts for emphasis, his gaze not leaving Al's eyes, even when covered.

"I mean, shit, half your teeth, or both your balls; fuck that's- well, that's actually something for you to think about isn't it. I mean, the second one would hurt more; but it's not like you're gonna use that lil' thing down there, right? No one would touch you."

Michael shrugged. All he had to do was get in Al's head. All he had to do was psych him out. He had the mind advantage here. He was a fuckin' genius after all, he could talk his way into or out of anything. Perks of a silver tongue bay-bee!

"Would it be easier if I swapped the deal? I mean, I like to see myself as a rational individual, we could make a deal, maybe a quarter of teeth, and one nut? Could always barter somethin' out."

He pointed his axe towards the gun. Now's the sinker. Pop the best deal now after the bad deal, he'll follow through.

"Hell, you put that shit away right now, even give it to me, and I might not do anything to you at all; whaddya say, eh? I'll give you a minute to think..."

Michael would give Al a minute to think. Any longer than that, then fuck it, he'll just bum rush him and see where it got from there.

Actually-

Fuck it!

Michael ducked his head low and sprinted zig-zags, ready to swing the blunt end of his axe towards Al's legs. Standing still wouldn't get shit done at all.

"Yeah. It ain't just gonna be the final blow though, she's got forty more whacks to the head before I'll be close to done."

Nancy fucked EVERYTHING up. This shit he's in is all her fault. Fuck her. She wants to be famous? Wants the world to recognize her face? Nah, it's only fair he smear it across the dirt, leave nothing recognizable. She was gonna eat shit.

Maria had people she wanted to find, and it was only fair that Michael would help her find them. Hell, they might even be up for joining their group, bringing justice back to the world. She'd asked about his friends. Darius was a maybe, provided he wasn't drunk as fuck and about to pass out, but Jon? He felt odd... He'd be fine with telling everyone else his plan, but there's a hesitation about telling Jonathan. What was he afraid of? Maybe...

Maybe he feared he'd get Jon hurt. That one of the freaks would murder him... That'd it be his fault, like Jerry.

"I... I uhhh, well, I don't kno- Hold up..."

Michael moved past Maria and started walking to the new shape. He laid his axe on his shoulder as he swaggered over to him. Recognition was near instant. Michael's dour disposition changed into a mocking grin. Small world huh? Ain't that a bitch...

"Eeeeyyy Allison!"

It was lil' pissbaby Al. The same Al that almost got him shot by the mall goth Who from Whoville.

"Yo; you mind tellin' us about that shitstorm at the chapel, figure I kinda' deserve an explanation for savin' your ass, don'tcha think?"

The arm holding the axe lowered, an audible clank was heard as the head smacked the ground; Michael's grip tightening along the handle. His posture became much more tense, much more threatening. His face kept that same goofy ass smirk.

Jonathan thought about who could have blue hair. Only two came to mind, one was Raina, he remembered her and Darius at the party. While he wouldn't tell her it, he thought it was kinda funny, in a really cringey 'I shouldn't be laughing at this' way. That'd meant he'd have saved someone who's innocent.

But then there was the other girl, who's name he'd heard multiple times already. It'd meant he'd saved a killer, and Jeremiah was innocent. Michael was innocent.

Jonathan wasn't sure which option he'd preferred. But it narrowed it down; though not by much, he continued on pondering who was right, and who was wrong. He forced himself to stop when he remembered Brendan's intentions. All Brendan wanted to do was help. That was it, nothing more, nothing less. If he could've done things in a different way, he would've done so. He would have to talk to Michael about it, he'd have to hear both stories.

Jonathan switched his attention to the newcomer, Candice. She was looking for her friend, Mia. Jonathan hadn't seen her, so he couldn't really help with that one. She asked about Danny, she thought he was injured...

"N-no, no, sorry he's... He's worse. We were talking about what we should do with him, we were talking about finding a better spot to place him, or find something to cover him."

"So's I was like 'Hey! You pull that trigger, and I'll fuck all of you up!' and you know what? He fuckin' didn't do it. Coward bastard knew what was comin' if he shot that shit, I tell ya'."

The rain pitter pattered along the windows outside the asylum. Maria and Michael had been searching the hallways and rooms for anyone hiding, good or bad. If they were good, maybe they could sway them to join the cause. If they were a name they've heard multiple times however. It was quiet as all hell.

Well, to be honest, it wasn't quite that quiet... What sounded like a machine gun went off a few floor below them, a little whiles earlier. They didn't bother to run to the source, they knew they weren't well armed to take that on yet.

That was quite the problem really. They had good cutty-beaty things, but when it came to packin' heat? Well, they weren't going to do any drive-bys any time soon. Michael was aware of what happened last time, him and Jerry, well armed, could take on anyone. That wasn't gonna happen again. They needed more people, and better gear if they really wanted to stand a chance.

Michael opened the next gate, calling out the clear sign after searching everything.

The tension of not finding anything when searching was just... ehh a little unnerving. He hated that shit. Dramatic music buildup, slow motion door open, and nothing was there. Shit pissed him off even more that cheap jump scares.

He moved to the next door. He wrapped his hand around the handle, then stopped. He knew what was on the other side. He knew it was not clear at all.

Michael was rather surprised, hell he was excited to hear Maria had much of the same thought process he did! Why should THEY get to go home anyways? All they're going to do once they get back is cry and pretend to be a victim, and the dumbass media and talk shows would eat it up. Oh, you massacred ten people? That's okay, you were a victim, they hurt your feelings, there was no other choice...

Fuck that shit. Back in America, there's a thing called capital punishment. Hell, back in civilization, even the most third world ones have the same idea. You kill a bunch of people, you get killed. Even if you're a dictator, you might get away with it for a while, but your people are gonna eat you alive eventually.

This island would be no exception. You killed a person? Coulda' been self defense, it's not the end of the world, you had to if you wanted off anyways.

Tortured a person, however... Kill three people? Well... That's a different ball game. We know you don't have three cases of 'self defense', and you can't torture someone in self defense either, so there's only one route for you to go.

The Route 666. Straight to hell.

Yo Jerry? You up there? You watchin' me? I hope so. I hope you and Scarlett are okay up there. If you can't rest yet, don't worry, you will soon. Things were gonna change real soon, lemme tell you. Those names that keep popping up, they'll all pop up one last time, and not in the way they want it to.

Michael stepped forwards, and extended his arm to handshake Maria. This was the plan then. It wouldn't be like last time. This time he was ready.

"Hell yeah, let's send these fuckers back home, eh?"

Michael looked towards the other side of the island. A blanket of rain was making it's way here.

"Shit, you saw Sandy? Me and Jerry too, problem was it was somewhat post-mortem, err well, mid-mortem or some shit. See, he wasn't dead when we walked in there, but he was in the process of it, Nancy put a damn screwdriver through his head."

The very mention of Nancy's name caused Michael to cringe. All because of her, shit got fucked, and it got fucked fast. Everything that sucked that happened to him or Jerry happened because of her. He continued his story.

"Y'know, we almost killed the bitch. Me and Jerry. She got caught red handed and rushed us. Jerry kicked her like a friggen' Worldstar video right? We had this shit in the bag! We outmanned and out armed her too, my axe was bigger than hers, Jerry had this wicked spear I made for him. We went in there, and-"

Michael snapped his fingers.

"Brendan Harte went in and fucked everything up like the lil' petty motherfucker he is. He killed Jerry, rest his fuckin' soul, and then it was two on one again, me the one. I still fought 'em off, they were scared of me an' shit. They ran like hell."

Michael shook his head. "Like shit, it just got worse from there, Alex had a buddy with a gun, they took my finger, fuckin' Min Jae and his group are dicks- he killed a dude for their crossbow by the way, that ain't his!- You're literally the only one I've actually had a normal fucking talk with by the way, since like, Jerry was here."

He stared off into space for a moment, looking at the island below him.

"It's probably a lot worse for everyone else, the same fuckin' people keep poppin' up on the announcements. Like damn, I get it, you only need one kill to make it out of here and people want to live, but why in the fuck do they keep going at it? Fuckin' Isabel went Hostel on Mistah Class President, I don't even wanna know what happened to Danny, the fuckin' mute's going ham, Alex's has gone full bonkers, dude thinks he's Hannibal now, and that blue haired weeb is a fuckin' whack job, pretendin' that killin' people will mean she's famous or something, like damn... Can you believe that shit?! Y-y'know it's at the fuckin' point where I don't even give a fuck who wins, just as long as it ain't those bastards!"

He took his shades off and sighed, he hadn't breathed during his tirade, and many of his words slurred together. If he kept going, he'd become as incomprehensible as Will 'EEHHMM, EEEERRHHM I'M FREM FOOKIN' LIVERPUEL, M8!' McKinley...

"Sorry for venting an' shit, but three days of pent up bullshit would make anyone crazy."

"Shit, you mean my hair's that bad? Damn, well Aqua Net and Dapper Dan combos only get you so far, shit's only meant to hold for a day or two..." Michael played stupid for comedic value. He knew Maria was talking about the combination of bruises obtained from Jerry's practice fight, and the fact he was missing a digit. He'd wait to acknowledge it, if she couldn't get a joke, he'd leave. Plus he was pretty self conscious, if he wasn't allowed to joke about it, it'd just make him feel worse. Coping mechanisms and shit.

He brushed his hand across his face, feeling the small specks of facial hair starting to pop in. Any longer without a good trim and he'd start looking like Shaggy Doo. "Goddamn, I needa' shave this shit." His hand left his face, and he looked at the bandages along it. "Oh..."

He pointed towards his hand. "You mean this shit right?" He tilted his head and grinned. Maria apologized. Why? She was telling the truth. After three days of getting shit on, of course he'd look like shit. Hell, it was harder to find people who weren't.

"Nah, you ain't gotta apologize, you're pretty much telling the truth, blame the shit-heels around here. I can't get a fuckin' break, y'know?" He stood up, patting down his pants. "Outside of literally one other person, I haven't found anyone who wasn't a dick, so, eh, I had a fun weekend I guess." He remembered how the church shitters wouldn't even let him get a drink before leaving, so he reached into his bag and pulled out one of the water bottles. He took a swig, and decided to warn Maria about them.

"If you leave the asylum, don't go to the people at the chapel, they're fucking cock-monglers, I really hope they catch dysentery or cholera or some shit."

He pointed the bottle at her, questioning her. "Soooo, what's the story with you? You don't look half as bad as I do, you been sneaking around the island dodging everyone, or did'ya just get lucky and not bump into anyone?"

This whole fuckin' thing was getting way out of hand. It's like every motherfucker gets a free talk shit without gettin' hit card because they got lucky with their bags. Shit really needed to be done about it. The fuckin' irony of this island being a funny farm. The inmates run the asylum now, and they've forgotten the way things work.

All the scum suckers got the good shit. Guns, swords, groups. Shit, at this point it seemed like there were more freaks than normal people around here. Like how many of them were left now? Seventy or eighty? Like ten of them have been going around murdering everyone, so that meant like a seventh or an eighth were murderers. Those ain't good odds for anyone.

Yet HE was the bad guy. Fuck Min Jae, fuck his self righteous bullshit. Motherfucker think's it's better to kill people for their weapons than it is to avenge someone. Fucking whack job. Why the hell is everyone crazy? Nancy's crazy, Alex's crazy, Min jae's crazy... Goddamn, when the fucking human peacock greaser is the most sane S.O.B on the island, you know something fucked up somewhere.

Michael kicked the door open to the rooftop. It was becoming a habit of his at that point. There was Maria on the other side of the roof sitting on the edge, looking down at something. She didn't really pay attention to his door stomp, so he went his own way, sitting by the doorway, and pulling out his first aid kit. He figured he might as well change the bandages on his hand while he could, make sure it didn't get infected and all that jazz.

He removed the bandages an-woah, he almost lost his lunch. The stump had become a mass of black and red scabbing, with pinkish white skin here and there. He gagged a bit as he pulled out the hand sanitizer, dumping a painful glob on it to keep it clean. He was not gonna catch some flesh eating bacteria here, no sir, none of that lock jaw shit for him! He hissed as it did it's burny cleany magic, before grabbing a clean roll of bandages to wrap up his hand.

He finished up when Maria spoke up about this whole situation.

He agreed with her, it WAS fucking stupid! Michael found himself chuckling a bit, before speaking up.

Jonathan was still thinking about what'd they'd do for Danny when Brendan asked him to take his gun. This had surprised him, he didn't think Brendan would've wanted to part ways with it. He understood why, though, Brendan was having second thoughts about what he'd done, Jonathan could tell he had been dwelling on it all day. It was hard to see Brendan so messed up over it, his thoughts were in the right place, he tried to do the right thing, and yet he was unsure of it.

Jonathan thought about what'd he would do in that situation. If it were one of his friends that he had to save. If he had to save Alba and Brendan, and that meant killing someone else? Would he do it, could he do it? Would that make him a hypocrite, promising escape whilst damning someone else?

He was surprised and disturbed how quickly the answer came to him...

All Brendan wanted to do was help someone, so he did it in the only way he knew how. If Jonathan were in that situation, he thought, he hoped he would do the same. Yet... If he saw himself in the situation the girl was in, would he want Brendan to save him? Would Brendan be able to live with himself for killing two people? Jonathan wanted to console him, to tell him it was okay. But he had to know...

He almost took the gun before he asked Brendan. "When you saved that girl, who was she? Who did she look like?"

He still had hope Michael was innocent, even if Brendan thought he wasn't. That there was some big mistake, that he wasn't in the wrong. But would that make Brendan wrong? If it were a misunderstanding, they both could be in the right, but at the same time, they both could be wrong. Jeremiah would still be dead. But then if one of them were in the right, one of them would be in the wrong. Michael was still planning on killing someone, maybe justified in his mind, but would it be justified? Would there be a reason for it? Brendan killed to save someone, why did Michael try to do it?

If he knew who Brendan saved, that might shed some light on things. He continued to ponder the scenario before an unfamiliar voice chimed in. Jonathan looked at the voice. She had a gun that looked like it came straight out of some 80's sci fi film. Michael would flip if he saw it.

From her voice alone, he could tell she was friendly. If she weren't, he was sure she could have killed the three of them before they even realized it. He smiled and welcomed her over.

"Sure, we're just talking about some things... We're thinking of what to do with someone inside the building, maybe find a better spot to lay him..." His smile faded somewhat, once he remembered just what they were talking about before hand.